A Street Under Stars
by Fluttering Phalanges
Summary: Daryl Dixon, a long time man of the streets, accidentally stumbles upon eighteen year old runaway Beth Greene. A mistake in fate that will lead to the unwilling mentorship between expert and amateur. A relationship that, much like time itself, will evolve into so much more. AU, no zombies, eventually will become M.
1. Chapter 1

**I know I have other stories and I will update them, but I wanted to start this so bad! AU, no zombies, just good ole bethyl. Here's the preface! Enjoy!**

Preface:

Christmas. The one holiday besides Thanksgiving that Daryl Dixon, thirty eight years of age and not a title to his name, despised without any real reason. Perhaps it was the false sense of happiness everyone seemed to display for the few days it occurred. Or the mask of joy on the faces of people despite seeing those certain relatives they cared not to be a part of.

It didn't help that he himself had no family. Well, a brother, but Merle had another good eighteen months to his sentence and would certainly find his way back into prison one way or another. Sometimes Daryl wished he could join him. At least there'd be a bed and mediocre food to accompany it.

Atlanta, Georgia was lit up like an untamed wildfire as he made his way across the streets. He ignored the looks from passersby, knowing his rough exterior made the otherwise rich area look a little off. He didn't give a damn though. His stomach rumbled with merciless hunger and the man point of his journey tonight was to find something in the dumpsters that was at least to the level of sub par and not lukewarm.

That was one good thing about Christmas. One could always find a little something to consume. Whether it be from the soup kitchens-a place Daryl preferred not to go unless he had to-or the back alley dumpsters behind the Chinese restaurants that remained open, there was always a little something to be found. And found it had to be, the man couldn't remember when the last time he'd had something to eat.

Daryl walked on, hands shoved into his pockets as the cool, winter air blew against his bare arms. His vest provided little to no protection against the elements. But it was, at least, not too terribly cold in that part of the South. Pushing past a group of carolers, he made his way towards the park, deciding to perhaps take a rest before going much further. The muscles in his legs ached terribly and after being chased off by a few restaurant owners, he decided to wait until it was a little later to grab something to consume.

"Merry Christmas!"

He ignored the stranger's wish as he continued on. He didn't see the point in returning the expression if it were that far from the truth. There was nothing merry about his life. Odd construction jobs on the side, mostly with workers who couldn't speak a lick of English. The world was a tough place once you peeled back the layers of propaganda hope and faith left on the surface.

Trudging along, he entered the empty park, body bathed in the Christmas lights' illumination as he went. In the distance, he saw a few stragglers walking about. Couples arm in arm as they exited the only piece of true nature in the center of the city. He managed to find a bench, exhaling as he strode up to it. With a grunt, he settled down, the cool feel of the wood somewhat satisfying against his sore limbs.

"Merry Christmas," he muttered to himself, arms crossing over his chest. "And to all a fucking good night."

He allowed his eyes to close briefly, ignoring the grumble in his stomach as he settled back. Later, he promised, later he'd find something to eat. Maybe even take the damn soup kitchen up on their offer. They had beds, though Daryl was far from being social enough to sit at a table with a bunch of other "poor souls" as was the more considerate label.

As sleep began to wrap its tendrils around his tired limbs, a shrill cry of desperation immediately pulled the man from his impending unconsciousness. He sat up, eyes fixated on a far off corner of the park, further than any of the lights reached. Just barely, he could make out two forms struggling against each other. A taller one seeming to overcoming a shorter, thinner figure whose hair swished back and forth viciously.

"Not your problem," he mumbled to himself, preparing to lay back down when yet another shriek found his ears.

Daryl exhaled, mouth pressed into a firm, thin frown as he got up from his makeshift bed. Though he knew that there weren't really any good people left, himself being a prime example, he knew well enough that guilt and regret would find him eventually if he didn't aid whoever it was being attacked. Inhaling sharply, he hurried over to where the victim and the assailant were. Noting at once what they were fighting over. A bag of McDonald's.

"Hey," he barked, catching the taller figure off guard. "Let 'er go."

Without a word, the man scrambled backwards, letting the bag go which of course, caused the other-a girl from what Daryl could make out-to stumble backwards. He stepped forward, catching her as she fell. The bag crashed to the ground, stale fries and half a consumed burger scattering across the grass. Pushing the girl away, he stared at the wasted food, uttering to himself as the girl met his eyes.

"Thank you," she breathed. "He was tryin' to-"

"Whatever," he mumbled, turning away. She wasn't his concern now. "Enjoy your dirt."

"Wait," the girl called, Daryl exhaling as she hurried after him. "Wait, hold up! I..." she paused, her voice wavering. "My name's Beth! I...I don't think we were properly introduced..."

"Daryl," he mumbled. "Now if you'd leave me the hell-"

"Christmas," she interrupted. "My daddy...no one should spend it alone. Maybe," she bent down, grasping what was left in the McDonald's bag. "We could share?"

The corners of Daryl's mouth twisted into a dissatisfied frown. No matter what he said, or even did for that matter, going by how young the stupid runaway bitch was, she wasn't going to let him off easily. He merely shrugged, ignoring her relieving exhale as she trotted up to his side. It was going to be one hell of a long night. Merry fucking Christmas indeed.

**Feedback is greatly loved and appreciated. Let me know if I should continue because I'm really debating it. If people seem to like it, I'll update again tomorrow. Until next time! -Jen**


	2. Chapter 2

**I'm not too sure about continuing this story, so I thought I'd at least do a scene and see how you guys feel. Feedback is greatly loved and appreciated! Thanks for the previous comments! Now onward to this scene! Please let me know if you think this homeless AU is worth continuing. If so, I will post much longer chapters and such. Feedback is now more important than ever because I am really conflicted. **

Chapter one:

She snored. She snored pretty damn loud for such a petite thing. Enough so that Daryl found himself shifting over onto his side under the mats and old blankets he kept stored underneath the overpass. Why he allowed her to tot along and even stay for that matter was beyond his reasoning. They hadn't even talked much-mostly because he hadn't allowed a great deal of conversation. But here they were, the both of them, sharing his few belongings on a cold December night. No soup kitchen. No church. Just the warmth of their own bodies to keep them going until the hours of daylight struck.

Daryl picked at the dirt absently under his fingernails, glancing back every so often at the girl who lay beside him. She was young, maybe late teens...early twenties, too pretty to have been out here for particularly long. Didn't look like a case of drug addiction-again, too clean cut and scarless for a heroine or meth addict. A runaway maybe. But why? She seemed too kind and...flowery to be angry at the world. And her immediate attachment to him made abuse seem less of a result.

"Hey...you awake?"

He hadn't wanted to hear her, he didn't need to hear her. The last thing he wanted to do was talk. Talking was far from anything he preferred to do, which was why he tended to be a loner in the first place. He grunted, not turning around to face her even as the blankets shifted as she sat up. He could feel her eyes boring into the back of his neck, gazing intently at him as he remained still.

"Did I wake you up?"

"No," he grumbled. "But ya might as well have."

"Oh..." she sounded slightly apologetic. "Well...I just thought that maybe...maybe we can talk?"

"Ain't got nothin' to say," replied the man, pulling a towel further up over his body. "Jus' go back to sleep."

For a few moments, silence fell between the two individuals, Daryl exhaling in relief as he allowed his eyelids to become more relaxed over his eyes. As his breathing drew slower and more rhythmic, sleep beginning to pull him towards the realm of unconsciousness, he heard the voice that made him stiffen. The corners of his mouth twitched into a small frown, a noise of irritation rumbling in his chest as he shifted further away.

"I'm from the country," the girl began. "Not too far from Atlanta, but far enough that we didn't see much of the city or its traffic. See, I grew up with my mama, my daddy, and two older siblin's. Brother and sister. Both really nice and all. My whole family is nice, but I was really sheltered."

He didn't give a damn, could honestly care less about her life story. Though, never would he openly admit it, he was the slightest bit curious. He chose not to respond however, falling silent as Beth continued to talk. That was her name, wasn't it? He had only met her an hour or so before. For all he knew, her name was Rachel and he'd just made the whole thing up. Not that it would matter.

"I can sing," she continued. "Really well if I do say so myself. But Daddy...he didn't want me explorin' it much more than choir at the church. But I thought I could be real big, ya know? Make something of myself? So I decided to leave. Just...just show 'em what I can really do..." She paused, swallowing hard. "Guess the 'Hollywood Dream' is a lot harder than they make it out to be..."

Daryl felt a slight sense of guilt for the girl. Innocent. Faithful. She had left a good home, a good life to pursue something that was much less impossible than not. And here she was, out on the street with someone like him. Exhaling, he moved his arm underneath his head, blinking in the darkness as cars occasionally rolled overhead on the highway. Beth didn't speak much more after that. Becoming silent just as it did most late nights.


End file.
